


See You At The Show

by Carbonpixel



Series: The Local Scene Is Killing Me [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M, bassist!Axel, everyone is a music major in college, guitarist!Roxas, it's a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carbonpixel/pseuds/Carbonpixel
Summary: Axel invites Roxas to his band’s gig in a rough-and-tumble bar. Roxas obliges, and has a terrible (but also kind of awesome) night.





	See You At The Show

**Author's Note:**

> The recent hype around the new game got me writing an AkuRoku AU fic (and a musician AU one-shot series) like it's 2006. I have no excuses.

Even in the dim pre-show lighting, Roxas could tell that he stood out from the bar’s pierced and tattooed crowd. He watched the tiny raised stage from the far corner of the room, one foot braced awkwardly against the wall behind him and both hands clutching a single bottle of the first beer listed on the bar’s chalkboard menu to his chest. He took a sip absentmindedly, then fought to cover his disgust at its taste with a faux-scowl. He didn’t belong here. He should go.

Roxas pushed himself off the wall exactly half a second before the band stepped onto the stage, preoccupied with attaching their instruments to amplifiers and taming the resulting mass of tangled black cords running along the stage’s floor. The musicians bantered between themselves as they arranged their gear around the stage, and Roxas gave an involuntary gasp as he recognized the bassist he had come to see. He clambered back into a semblance of composure, his grip tightening on the sweating glass bottle, and moved toward the crowd forming near the base of the stage. 

Roxas took another swig of god-awful beer as he settled into a spot near the edge of the crowd, near the far back wall. He prayed the red- and blue-tinged stage lighting would safeguard his anonymity from the musicians onstage, hoped it would conceal his inadequacies from the spectators around him. He drank more beer, to quell his rising panic and mask his presence in the crowd in equal measure.

Axel moved across the stage as he tuned his bass guitar, saying something to the band’s guitarist that Roxas couldn’t catch. The guitarist, who Roxas recognized as Demyx from his music theory class, replied with something that made Axel toss his head back and point at the sound technician sequestered in a glorified cubbyhole directly across from the stage. Axel tested a bass lick after the sound technician finished the requested adjustments, then gave a thumbs-up. 

As the band’s drummer adjusted the placement of the cymbals of his drum set, Demyx approached the lone microphone set in the middle of the stage. “Bear with us, guys,” he said, the ghost of an inside joke tingeing his voice. “Saїx is particular about his setups.”

Axel made air-quotes as he mouthed “particular,” turning away from the crowd to address Saїx. Judging by the face Saїx made in reply, Axel’s comment was not polite. 

Roxas watched as the band collected itself and launched into its set, a series of raucous, blistering half-songs about half-baked revolutions and middle-class ennui. He backed away from the crowd as eager concertgoers began pushing and elbowing each other, clearing working to match the aggression of Demyx’s power chords and Saїx’s punishing snare beats. Roxas kept moving until he bumped into a table set against the wall, next to the sound technician in his nook. He surveyed the room for exit signs, suddenly desperate to know where he could make a swift getaway in the event that the crowd turning violent.

Roxas refocused his attention to Axel, and the anxiety gnawing at his chest relaxed. Despite the chaos around him, Axel remained unperturbed, holding down a steady bass line for each song as the guitar and drums railed against eardrums and social mores alike. He played as if untouched by the raw noise around him, shaping but not being shaped. 

Roxas felt the tightness in his shoulders release as Axel sauntered to the edge of the stage, plugging a basic chord progression with a wicked grin and shaded eyes. He stuck his tongue out, and a cluster of people just outside of the mosh pit cheered. Roxas resisted the urge to cheer with them.

By the time the band reached its final number, all three of its members stood drenched in sweat and visibly haggard. Even Axel, untouched by the aural grit in the heat of the moment, had to push hair away from his eyes, loosened from the spikes he wore pointing away from his face. He flicked some of his sweat at the still-ravenous crowd, who responded with something between applause and a battle cry. 

Demyx placed his guitar aside and removed the microphone from its stand, shaking his head as he walked to the edge of the stage. He held the microphone against his chin as he spoke. “Do you have a heart?” he asked, voice rasping from overuse. 

The audience booed in unison, apparently well-versed in this particular ritual. Demyx sighed into the microphone. “I said, do you have a heart?”

The crowd hissed and spat, performing their part of the ritual with practiced hostility. Demyx looked into the crowd, shot a quick glance at the sound technician, and chucked the microphone at the far edge of the room. _“I didn’t think so!”_ he screeched, barely audible over the sudden onslaught from Saїx’s drum kit. Axel lolled his head back and began on another chord progression, creating a subtle sense of order as Demyx paced the stage and screamed at the crowd, face contorted enough to resemble a caged animal. 

The scene continued for what felt like an eternity to Roxas, until Saїx’s energy wore down and Demyx could no longer scream. The piece ended with a final note from Axel, a deep, pulsating tone that resonated throughout the atmosphere of the dank bar. Saїx threw his drumsticks offstage as Demyx crouched low to the ground, still snarling and gnashing his teeth in a final gesture of ferocity. 

Axel cackled and clapped a hand on Demyx’s shoulder, pushing him off the stage. “Show’s over, folks! Enjoy the monster you created!”

The crowd let out a cheer and rushed to Demyx, surrounding him and shoving him in all directions. Saїx rolled his eyes and left the stage, pinching the bridge of his nose. Axel grinned at Saїx and gave one last wave to the crowd before stepping off the stage himself, bass guitar still strung across his shoulder. 

Roxas labored to breathe as the crowd continued to assault Demyx, terror rising in his chest for both his own safety and Demyx’s. He pressed himself into the table next to the sound booth, one hand still grasping the beer bottle which had long since been emptied. He swallowed against the knot in his throat.

Finally, Demyx burst from the crowd, his once-spiked fauxhawk plastered against his forehead and temples with sweat. He stumbled but righted himself, turning to point a finger at the crowd. Whatever he said next dissipated the aggression built up in the ether, as the people in the audience relaxed and dispersed to the bar and out the back exit.

Roxas let out the breath he had been holding, accidentally dropping the beer bottle as he willed himself to relax. It hit the floor, with a hollow ‘clink’ that Roxas hoped was obscured by the ska music playing over the club’s speakers, and rolled toward the stage. Roxas started after it in a panic, stooping to catch it as it hit the edge of the stage.

Roxas startled as he stood up, taken aback by the torso and legs that met him at eye level. He heard a half-edged scoff from a familiar voice before he could look up to recognize the face. 

“You made it!” Axel said, leaning forward to make eye contact with Roxas. With the colored stage lighting gone, Roxas could see the glint in Axel’s eye. “You had me going for a second. I though for sure you’d stood me up.”

“I-I would never,” Roxas stammered, attempting to match Axel’s cheekiness. “I mean, I thought about it—”

Axel laughed, full-bodied. “You looked like you were one missed chorus from bailing the entire time. Is the hardcore scene too hardcore for you?”

Roxas glanced at the empty glass bottle in his hand. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s intense.”

“Damn right it is!” Axel stepped off the stage and onto the audience floor, slipping his hands into the pockets of his cracked leather jacket. He gestured to the bar with his chin. “Come on, I’ll get you another drink. To calm your nerves.”

Roxas looked up at Axel, then back at the abandoned drum kit and amplifiers still onstage. “Don’t you need to strike your equipment?”

Axel shrugged. “Eh, Saїx can handle it. It’s mostly his stuff, anyway.”

At the bar, Axel ordered another bottle of the same beer for Roxas, and a rum and Coke for himself. “You like the craft stuff?” he asked, pointing to the bottle’s label.

Roxas cringed as he took a deep draft. “No, actually, it’s horrible. I only ordered it because it was the first thing I saw on the menu and I didn’t feel like choosing.”

“Yeah? And you’re still drinking it?” Axel sipped from his own glass. “That’s dedication.”

Roxas set his beer aside, the hoppy taste lingering on his tongue. “Thanks. I try.”

Axel turned to face the bar. “So what did you think of the show? Aside from being scared.”

Roxas tucked his feet in the rungs between his barstool’s legs. “It’s definitely different from anything we’re covering in music history. Speaking of which, did you get your midterm essay back? I haven’t gotten my grade yet.”

Axel elbowed Roxas in the shoulder, much more gently that the concertgoers in the mosh pit. “Hey, don’t change the subject!” He sighed. “It’s okay if you didn’t like it.”

“No!” Roxas jumped in his seat, nearly knocking his drink over on the bar. He gingerly righted the bottle before continuing. “I mean—I just—I—“ He stopped himself, taking a pointedly deep breath. “It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

Axel beamed. “That’s the point! It’s supposed to be provocative.”

“Well, if you’re trying to provoke fear, I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job.” Roxas smiled to himself, staring at his drink.

The pair sat in silence as they finished their drinks, the ska giving way to classic rock as the hardcore crowd filed out and the barhopping crowd filed in. Axel placed his empty glass on the front edge of the bar. “I saw your performance in the ensemble concert last night, by the way.”

Roxas nodded, sliding his still-half-full beer next to Axel’s glass. “Yeah, I saw you. I think there was a grand total of ten people in the auditorium.” Roxas had long since dismissed any notions of seeing any types of crowds at the university-sanctioned classical guitar concerts in which he was expected to perform. “Thanks for coming, by the way. You increased our audience size by ten percent.”

Axel’s gaze softened as he stared ahead, almost lost in thought. “I think it’s really cool, you know? All the fingerwork stuff you guys do. It takes a special touch. Delicate.”

Roxas rested his elbows on the bar. “I guess. It’s much stuffier than what people want to see, though. They want”—he waved at the stage behind them—”all this. What you guys do.”

“You could do it if you want,” Axel said, sitting up straighter. “The guitar part, I mean. It’s literally three chords over and over. One hand shape, if you want to barre it.”

Roxas demurred with a small shrug. “Maybe that part, but I doubt I could sell the performance much. I’m not cut out for the shock and awe aspect. Too delicate.” He wiggled his fingers at Axel to demonstrate. 

Axel smirked. “See, I like that about you. You have a sense of humor.”

“Thanks. I like your stage presence.”

Axel raised an eyebrow at Roxas, bemusement highlighted in the bar’s poor lighting. Roxas immediately blanched. “I’m sorry. I should go,” he said, sliding off of the barstool and trying desperately to keep himself from broadcasting his embarrassment.

Roxas heard Axel’s barstool creak as he pushed himself away from the bar. “I’ll walk you out.”

Roxas crossed the street outside the bar with Axel in tow, reaching his car without looking up from the ground. 

“Thanks again for coming to the show,” Axel called from behind. Roxas turned to find Axel with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. “You increased our audience by one terrified guitarist.”

Roxas nodded, fumbling with his car keys. “Yeah, don’t mention it.”

Axel took a step forward, closing the gap between them. “Will I see you at the next one?” he asked, eyes half-lidded.

Roxas snapped to attention. Was that an invitation? “Um, yeah, for sure. Let me know when--”

Before Roxas could react, Axel moved closer, impossibly close, stopping only a hair’s breadth away from Roxas’s face. Axel’s breath teased at Roxas’s cheeks as he giggled. “Too easy,” he said, as he pulled away to stand upright.

Axel shook his head lightly, still laughing. When he looked back at Roxas, he winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll be the first person to know about the next show. In the meantime,” he said, brushing a curled index finger under Roxas’s eye, “stay bright-eyed.”

Axel gave a final teeth-flashing smile before turning back to the bar. “See you in music history,” he called, one hand raised in a backward wave.

Roxas stood dumbfounded in the street as Axel reentered the bar, as fluidly as he had moved onstage just an hour before. Roxas put one hand on his chest and worked to breathe deeply, against the protests of his overworking lungs.

He managed to get himself situated in the driver’s seat of his car with little fanfare, blushing furiously as he gripped the steering wheel. What had just happened? How had it happened? How could Roxas make it happen again?

He inhaled sharply as he turned the key in his car’s ignition, the nighttime chill equalizing some of his disorientation. There was only one thing to do: go home, bide time. Or, at least, bide time until Axel’s next gig.


End file.
